How Tom Felton and Daniel Radcliffe Discovered Drarry
by Reinamy's Cloud
Summary: In which Tom Felton and Daniel Radcliffe discover Harry/Draco fan fiction, Tom becomes obsessed, and Dan frets over the utter bizarreness of his life. Tom/Dan RPS. Harry/Draco implied.
1. Part One

**Title:** How Tom Felton and Daniel Radcliffe Discovered Drarry

**Author:** Reiko Katsura

**Category:** Real People Fiction

**Pairing:** Tom Felton/Daniel Radcliffe (also Harry/Draco… in a sense)

**Genres:** Drama, Flangst, Humor, Romance

**Rating:** NC-17 (for language and sexual content)

**Word Count:** ~13,850

**Summary:** In which Tom Felton and Daniel Radcliffe discover Harry/Draco fan fiction, Tom becomes obsessed, and Dan frets over the utter bizarreness of his life.

**Disclaimer: **I'm a filthy liar who lies, and no one should listen to me. Honestly. Everything you read following this disclaimer is total fiction. Don't believe a single word of it. It's all the mad fantasies of a delusional fan girl who has nothing better to do than think and write about two sexy strangers in getting it on.

**A/N: **All notes for this story is located in chapter 7. Please enjoy the fic.

* * *

**PART ONE [1]**

* * *

The first time Daniel stumbled upon fan fiction featuring Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in a romantic relationship—and what the bloody fuck was up with _that_?—he nearly died of humiliation. He quickly closed the tab to that particular page and a lot less sleepily continued on his quest to find foods that qualified under "dairy" products.

Let it be said that he never quite felt the same way whenever someone uttered the word "dairy", which was far too close-sounding to "Drarry" for his personal liking.

* * *

The second time Dan stumbled upon a Harry and Draco site he had the misfortune of having Tom leaning over his shoulder. The nosy bugger.

"Hold on—what's that?"

Dan groaned inwardly. "Nothing," he lied, and when he made to close _that _tab (who would have thought that so many Harry & Draco results would pop up on Google™ while looking for viewer reviews of the Half Blood Prince bathroom scene?) Tom shoved him over and stole his seat, making him topple to the floor.

"Oi!" Dan shouted. He scrambled to his feet and made an attempt to take his chair back, but Tom shushed him.

"Apparently," Tom said after a long period of silence, "you and I are a couple."

Dan stuffed his hands into the pocket of his jumper and rolled his eyes. "You and _I_aren't a couple," he corrected. Tom's eyes were flashing over the screen, and Dan knew there was no point denying it now. "Harry and Draco are. Supposedly."

Tom shot him a quick unimpressed look and returned his gaze to the computer. "Same thing."

Dan scoffed. Eventually, after realizing Tom wasn't going to budge, he gave up and pulled the extra computer chair beside Tom's. Tom scooted over a bit so Dan could have better access to the screen, and continued browsing.

What they found was shocking. More—it was _disturbing_. There were stories—"fan fiction", they were apparently called—about Harry and Draco becoming best friends, or blood brothers, or, more appallingly (and this seemed to be the majority), even _lovers._Dan honestly couldn't believe that some people actually spent time writing—and, they unfortunately discovered, _drawing_—such things.

"Can't these people get sued for this?" Dan asked. From the corner of his eye he could see Tom's head swivel towards him. "Copyright infringement and all that?"

Tom shrugged. "I don't think so. And look here," he pointed at a bit of text on the screen, "it says '_I do not own Harry Potter or its respective characters, plot, or settings. They are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and her co. I make no money off this (unfortunately); it's merely for fun._' See? They've all got disclaimers above their stories."

"Surely Joanne doesn't condone this, though!" Harry argued, frowning.

Tom shrugged again. "There's no way she doesn't know about this, though. It would be hard not to, considering how much of this stuff is on the 'Net."

Dan grumbled, and when Tom continued to browse, he reluctantly joined in as well.

* * *

Fan fiction was _weird, _Dan thought nearly two weeks after he and Tom had discovered that '_fanfiction dot net'_ site. He couldn't believe what people came up with for the Harry Potter characters, or the extent of their apparent obsessions with them.

He himself didn't find it at all that interesting, but Tom apparently did. He'd discovered something called "The Sacrifices Arc" by Lightning on the Shore… (or something like that) and hadn't been able to stop talking about it since.

"Lily is a right bitch," Tom told him one day after they finished their work on the set. "I can't believe how gullible she is. And Dumbledore! God, I wanted to wring his manipulative little neck when I saw him today."

And Harry knew it was true. Poor Michael hadn't understood why Tom had been glaring at him so vehemently on the shoot that day, and he probably never would.

"You know that's a load of bollocks," Dan reminded him, impatiently. "It's just fiction—"

"Fanon," Tom interrupted him.

Dan paused. "What?"

"The fans call non-canon, or "unreal" Harry Potter facts, _fanon_."

Dan exhaled. "You're becoming obsessed with this, Tom. You keep on reading that garbage and you'll start messing up in your work."

Tom stuffed his digital book—which, Dan was sure, was probably stock full of that fan fiction crap—in his bag and crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. He sniffed. "That won't happen. You needn't worry. I'm a _professional._"

Dan wished he could blame fan fiction for Tom's tendency to act like Draco Malfoy at times, but he really couldn't. Instead, he settled for snorting.

"Well, Mr. Professional, why don't we go get something to eat. I'm _starved._"

At the prospect of food Tom brightened. "Fish and chips?"

"That stuff is going to kill you," Dan told him, not for the first time.

"No it won't."

"You'll get fat," he tried again.

Tom glared at him and patted his stomach. "I definitely won't."

"You'll be looking like Robbie, soon."

This time Tom positively scowled. "One more word about me getting fat out of you, Radcliffe, and I'll tell Emma what you and Rupert were talking about last night."

Dan gaped at him. "You wouldn't."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Try me."

After a moment or two of them standing there staring, Dan finally sighed.

"Fish and chips it is, then."

Tom smiled at him winningly.

* * *

They were sitting on Dan's sofa watching _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's _Stone and munching on peanuts.

"I don't want to watch a Harry Potter movie," Dan had complained when Tom popped the DVD in, ignoring him and his protests that it was _his _house and therefore he should be the one to choose what to watch. "We're _in _it—it kind of takes the fun out a movie when you're made to memorize the thing and act it out hour after hour for months straight.

"Actually, I'm rarely in these movies." Tom didn't sound the least bit resentful about that—he liked playing Draco Malfoy, after all. "So it's not really that boring for me at all."

"Selfish." Dan knew he was whining.

Tom smirked. "Never stated otherwise."

Ten minutes into the movie and Dan remembered his _real _reason for hating to watch a Harry Potter movie—or any movie, for that matter—with Tom in the same room. Tom, as usual, commented throughout the entire thing.

"Really, Dan, couldn't you have acted that part out a bit more lively? I mean, you just discovered that Voldemort had tried to kill you, for crying out loud. You'd think a bloke would be a bit more devastated."

"I was twelve, Dan."

**()**

"It's a shame you cut your hair. The bowl-cut 'do was actually rather cute."

"It's a pity you haven't cut yours; you look like a girl."

**()**

"You're an idiot, Daniel. You should have been sorted into _Slytherin. _Didn't you hear the bloody Hat? He said you would have been _great_. Have you absolutely no ambition at all?"

"No. That's why _Harry_ was sorted into _Gryffindor._"

**()**

"I never understood that part. Didn't Dumbles specifically say that children were _not_allowed near the Forbidden Forest? So why the bloody fuck would McGonagall even consider sending a bunch of first years—especially Harry Potter who any dark wizard would have been happy enough to kill—alone in the forest in the middle of the night with a _dog _to protect them?"

"She was obviously tired after being woken up so late. She most likely wasn't thinking straight."

"That's no excuse."

**()**

"Gryffindors. I would have never done that."

"That's why Ron is a better person than Draco is."

**()**

"You know, I will forever hate Dumbledore for tricking the Slytherins that way."

"We rid theschoolofVoldemort! Surely we deserve a few house points for that?"

"…"

"Alright. It was a bit messed up he did it that way."

"You think?"

* * *

True to his word, Tom never did make a mistake during a shooting, even with all the fan fiction he was reading. Eventually he even stopped shooting Michael glares. He'd moved on from The Sacrifices Arc—

("It was really rather brilliant, though the author needs to learn a thing or two about my character. You should definitely try to read it sometime."

"No thanks, mate.")

—and was currently reading…er, something else.

"These birds have some serious issues. I mean, honestly, you'd think they'd seen the movies at least one time in their life being the hardcore fans they claim to be."

"What are you talking about?" Dan asked, peeking at the white screen of Tom's laptop.

"This," Tom said, and gestured for Dan to move closer.

Dan did. He followed Tom's finger to where it underlined text in the middle of the screen and read aloud, 'Smiling, Harry hugged the smaller man—'"

"You see!" Tom snapped, scowling. "Where these lunatics got the misconception of me being 'smaller' when I'm clearly nearly a head taller than you—and let's not forget Draco's own 'tallness'—which, by the way, is a canon fact—I'll never know. But they just_love _making Draco out to be this small, clingy, needy _bottom _all the time—"

"Bottom?" Dan cried, alarmed.

Tom stopped his rant and looked at Dan curiously. "Bottom," he repeated.

Dan's mouth opened, then closed, then opened, then closed. The process lasted an entire minute before he was able to choke his next words out.

"What do you mean by _bottom_?"

The look Tom gave him was as if he was being daft. "What do you think I mean by it?_Bottom_. You know, the receiver in sex, the one who takes it up the arse, the pillow biter, the—oomph!"

Dan clamped his hand over his mouth to shut him up. Getting the drift, Tom grudgingly did.

"I can't believe you're reading those—those things!" he accused him.

Tom quirked his brow. "Daniel, you knew perfectly well what I've been reading. It's not like I've kept it a secret from you."

Dan spluttered. "I thought you were reading _regular _fan fiction! Like the ones we saw about Harry and Draco being friends, or blood brothers, or… or…"

He stopped when Tom started to laugh.

"Mate, you must be the slowest person I've ever met. What do you _think _I meant when I told you about the fic I was reading where Draco was Harry's 'sorely missed' person down in the lake?"

"I thought they were just close friends!" Dan argued.

Tom snorted in obvious amusement. "If they'd been 'just close friends' don't you think Ron would have been better suited for that slot? Or Hermione?"

"But—"

"And what about that fic I told you about where Harry lost a bet to Draco and had to be spanked ten times by him?"

Dan gawked. "I thought Draco was just being a git! I didn't think that they'd…"

"Honestly, did you really think Harry and Draco would become friends, or _brothers_, after Draco bent Harry over his knees and spanked his arse with his bare hand?"

Dan spluttered.

Tom smiled. "Your innocence is really rather endearing, Daniel."

That snapped him out of it. "I want you to stop reading that rubbage, Tom." He demanded.

Tom gave him a simple stare. "Not on your life."

Dan wanted nothing more than to throttle his pale neck. "But why?" he whined. "Surely you don't find that crap _interesting_? Or… or…" _hot. _He couldn't say it.

"Or?" Tom prompted, grinning.

Dan tried to fight back the blush, he really did. He failed miserably.

"Shut up." he snapped, face hot.

Tom's voice was mirthful as he said, "As fun as this has been, I really need to be getting home now. Lunch tomorrow?"

If Dan hadn't been so used to Tom by now he probably wouldn't have recognized the vaguely noticeable hints of uncertainty that edged his words. Despite his current upset with him, he didn't want him thinking their relationship was ruined because Tom became all weird. Or turned into a pou—

Dan stopped that thought right there.

He grumbled under his breath but nevertheless nodded, returning Tom's smile with a small one of his one, and walked him to the door. As soon as he left and Dan locked it behind him, he thumped his head onto the polished wood and groaned, and wondered how his life had taken on such a bizarre turn.

He blamed Joanne for it, entirely.

* * *

Now that Dan knew that Tom was indeed reading homoerotic stories of their two characters together—and it still made him shudder when he thought about it—he caught the subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, meanings behind every fan fic related thing Tom said… which was rather a lot.

_"Pareseltongue's a pretty interesting talent, don't you think? I wonder what other kind of snakes Harry could command with that tongue of his."_

_"As if anyone with even a shred of taste would pick a gold-digging ginger over an established blond. Morons."_

_"This one says that Harry has big feet. Huh."_

_"Sorry, ladies, but I'm actually pretty versatile."_

_"Talented at polishing broomsticks, aren't you, Potter?"_

_"Would you say Lions are incredibly passionate animals?"_

_"You know what they say about fine lines…"_

A month later and Dan was ready to murder Tom. Maybe _Harry_ couldn't muster up enough hate (or, in Tom's case, annoyance) to cast _Crucio _properly, but Dan was beginning to think that he would be fully capable of it.

Filming was over for the remainder of the month, giving them nearly two and a half weeks to relax and unwind. Dan had planned to stay over Tom's house for at least a week, but the bastard had turned him down. When Dan has asked him why, he had simply stated that he'd "discovered Lomonaaeren". Dan didn't know what that meant, but he was sure it was another one of those fan fic things.

After six days of being completely unable to get into contact with Tom, Dan decided that enough was enough and, as friends usually did under such dire circumstances, came over uninvited.

"You didn't tell me you were coming over today," Tom grumbled when he opened the door to Dan. Dan snorted and moved inside, not bothering to ask to be let in.

"I would have if you'd returned any of my calls."

At least, Dan thought as he removed his coat and hung it on the rack, Tom had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"I told you why I was busy," Tom argued, following Dan into the sitting room.

"No, you didn't. You told me you discovered something fan fiction related and couldn't, apparently, be arsed to put it down to spend time with someone who had _thought _he was your best mate."

Tom's expression soured. _Guilt_, Dan knew. He smiled inwardly.

Tom ran his fingers through his hair (Dan wondered when he was going to cut it) and sighed.

"Sorry," he said, eventually.

Dan grinned cheekily. "That's alright. I'm used to your prattishness by now."

They moved to Tom's room and ordered pizza from a nearby parlor. For a while they chatted about any gossip they'd heard (which, surprisingly, wasn't much) and plans for Rupert's upcoming birthday. Draco popped in the first episode of the series _Merlin _into the player—

("Did you know Arthur and Merlin are considered the Harry and Draco of the Arthurian legend? Their fanbase is pretty wicked, though nothing compared to ours."

Dan took offense at the implicating "ours" and good-naturedly shoved Tom off the bed.)

—and they settled down on his bed to watch it.

Thirty minutes into the show the doorbell sounded and Tom left to pick up the pizza. Dan turned away from the telly—the show wasn't nearly as interesting as Tom had made it out to be—and glanced around the room.

Tom's bedroom was as messy as always. Papers were littered everywhere, and clothes draped over every piece of furniture in the room. Tom was a lot more technology-inclined than Dan was, so appliances and gadgets lined the walls of nearly every inch of the room. Because Tom was a bit of a ponce he had _two _closets full of clothes and shoes, and a shelf stocked with books situated in between.

His walls were a pale green, almost blue, and his floor was veneered with grayish-black black tiles that Dan had never really seen anywhere else. There were empty candy wrappers scattered everywhere.

Shaking his head, Dan leaned forward and grabbed the nearest thing to him: Tom's digital book. He slouched against the frame of the bed, crossed his legs, and turned the skinny thing on.

As he expected, the page that appeared as soon as the device went on was about Harry Potter.

_He's obsessed,_ Daniel thought as he began to read. _He needs help._

Dan was still reading when Tom came back in carrying a large pie of pizza ten minutes later.

* * *

**TBC.**


	2. Part Two

**PART TWO [2]**

* * *

Dan hadn't noticed him come in. He also hadn't noticed him sneak up behind him to lean over Dan's shoulder. He jumped when Tom's voice whispered loudly from just beside his ear.

"…_grasped Potter's cock more firmly, just as he would himself, and trailed his thumb along the underside before returning to the tip again_—"

Dan yelped and pushed Tom away, but not before practically tossing the digital book off the bed.

Tom let out a rather unmanly squeak and scrambled after it. As soon as it was safely back in his hands, he turned to Dan and glared, book clutched preciously to his chest.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded.

Dan glared back. "You startled me!"

Tom rolled his eyes.

"And anyways," Dan continued, heart pounding, "what the bloody fuck are you doing reading that thing, anyway!"

"I thought we went over this already," Tom muttered. He walked across the room and placed the digital book on his computer desk, safely away from Dan. "You're making a big thing out of nothing."

"Out of _nothing_? I hardly think what I just read was _nothing_, Felton."

Tom paused, then said, "It certainly looked like you were getting into it, though."

Dan exploded. "Fuck you, Tom!"

Before Tom could stop him Dan jumped off the bed and stormed out of Tom's room. He ignored Tom's calls for him to wait as he grabbed his coat, stepped out of the house, and slammed the door. Fuming, he fished his keys out of his jeans pocket and all but ran to his car.

_He's such a fucking idiot, _he thought, angrily. He opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat, buckled his seat belt, and started the engine.

He was still angry when he returned to his own driveway nearly an hour later.

* * *

Dan ignored Tom's calls for three days before he decided to stop being a prick and called him back. He'd realized, probably two hours after he'd stormed out of Tom's house and gone home, that he'd _probably _overreacted. Okay, he _definitely _overreacted. Who was Dan to try to tell Tom what he should and should not read? Even if he thought Tom's reading interests were atrocious and he was a bit touched in the head, he had no reason to blow up at him the way he did.

He didn't really understand why Tom reading Harry/Draco fan fiction bothered him so much, but it did. It made him uncomfortable—more so than he'd ever admitted to Tom—but that was to be expected, wasn't it, considering he'd been playing Harry Potter's character for nearly seven years.

Coming to the conclusion that it would be stupid to lose his best mate simply because they didn't agree on something as ridiculous as fiction, Dan finally mustered up the courage to give Tom a call. Tom picked up on the fifth ring.

"I'm sorry," Dan said immediately.

"Wanker."

He figured that was all the forgiveness he was going to get.

* * *

The day of Rupert's birthday came and went, and with it the end of the summer. Dan woke up at ten a.m. on September first extremely grateful that he was home-schooled. At noon Tom came over with bags of Chinese takeaway and his laptop bag slung over one shoulder. They made themselves comfortable in Dan's room—which, Dan was inclined to admit, was a lot cleaner than Tom's—and settled on the rug with their laptops open.

"What're you working on?" Tom asked him.

"Chem report."

Tom made a face and returned to his own screen.

After ten minutes, Tom began to type. Twenty minutes after that, he was still going.

"What are _you_ doing?" Dan finally asked, curious despite himself. "Homework?"

Tom snorted. "Hardly," he said, "I'm writing."

It was Dan's turn to snort. "Obviously. Writing what?"

Tom glanced at him from the corner of his eye. His fingers hovered hesitantly above the keys before they were pulled away completely, brought to the space between his folded legs. Tom seemed to consider answering before he shrugged and eventually said, "Fan fiction."

Dan almost choked. He should have known, really. Tom had already given up his soul; after all, once in hell, the only real option you have of going anywhere was down.

Tom opened his mouth to say something else, but Dan lifted his hand and cut him off. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Tom elbowed him in the side. "Quit being a prat. I needed to ask you a question, anyway."

Rubbing his (possibly) bruised ribs, Dan shot him a wary look. "Yes?"

"You'd know Harry's character better than anyone, yeah?"

"I suppose," Dan said, wariness increasing.

Tom ignored the suspicious look. "Tell me, if Draco were to suddenly kiss Harry out of the blue, how would Harry react?"

Dan stared at him. "You can't really expect me to answer that," he said, weakly.

"Why not?"

"For starters, Draco Malfoy would _never—_"

"Seeing as how I've been playing Draco Malfoy for the past six point five years I think _I _more than anyone would know whether or not he's capable of kissing Harry bloody Potter."

"And is he?" Dan groused.

Tom smirked. "Definitely."

Dan dropped his face in his hands and groaned. "You're insane!"

"I know," Tom said it as if he were accepting a compliment. He unfolded his legs until both were outstretched in front of him and asked again, "Well?"

Dan crossed his arms. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Use your imagination," he said, unhelpfully. He sat back and looked at Dan critically. "Imagine Harry and Draco were arguing in an empty corridor after curfew. Imagine one thing leading to another—Draco verbally abusing Harry, Harry getting angry and acting the brute that he is and shoving Draco against the wall, both of them struggling to overpower the other—and Draco just diving in and claiming a kiss. How would Harry react?"

Dan honestly had no words. He continued to stare at Tom, utterly incapable of doing anything else. Eventually Tom rolled his eyes and huffed.

"How about a demonstration?"

Dan had no real time to react as soon as the words registered. The rug beneath him seemed to turn to glue and the shock of what Tom actually _implied _made his upper body, including his brain, freeze as if suddenly turned to lead. He was only vaguely aware of Tom moving in so close that he could almost feel the heat of his face against his own; could almost smell the scent of pork fried rice on his tongue and see the dashes of grey in his increasingly widening blue eyes.

There was no hesitation as the thin, dry lips pressed into his— or if there were, Dan hadn't been able to sense it. The room seemed to still as Tom pressed their lips together harder, then drop completely when he boldly took Dan's upper lip beneath his lips.

It took Tom's hand cupping his left cheek to snap Dan out of the shocked haze he'd fallen into, and when he could move, he reacted in the only way he could think of.

He punched Tom.

In the face.

_Hard_.

The blow sent Tom crashing backwards onto the rug, back pressed to it and outstretched legs parted at an awkward angle. Dan watched him lift one hand to gingerly brush his reddening cheek.

Tom looked at him, and once more everything seemed to freeze.

"Well," Tom said after what felt like half an hour had passed. "That's pretty much how I expected Harry to react, too."

Dan caught himself before he could fly at Tom and hit him again.

"Fuck _you_," he bit out. He scrambled to his feet hastily, nearly falling over twice in the process. When he was righted and his trembling legs seemed more capable of supporting the rest of him, he rushed to his bed and grabbed his jumper, then turned to leave the room.

How _could _Tom? Dan shook his head to clear the dancing spots against his vision and clenched his fists. To have the nerve to _kiss _him, and then bloody play it off like a… like some kind of _experiment… _

He shook his head again. _He went too fucking far. He always goes too _fucking_ far. _

The sound of his name being called made him pause for a second. He said, in the coldest voice he could muster (not that it was much of a hardship to generate), "Please be gone by the time I'm back," and quickly cleared the distance between himself and the door. Dan slammed it and hurried out of the house.

As he usually did when he was well and truly angry, he decided to go for a drive to clear his head. Dan unlocked his car and all but threw himself in, slamming the door so hard he worried for a moment if he'd unhinged it. He pulled out of his driveway and set off for nowhere in particular. The plan was simple: drive around town for a few hours and calm the fuck down.

He hadn't planned on pulling into his driveway hours later when the sky was already beginning to darken into an evening grey and the car's gas was so low he worried if he'd even be able to make it to the station the next day before running out.

When he walked into the house he was met with its characteristic quiet. Wearily, he glanced at the rack in the foyer and saw that Tom's coat was gone.

Sighing—because Dan honestly didn't know if he was more relieved or disappointed that Tom had left—he removed his shoes and trudged inside. He grabbed a small towel from the laundry cupboard on his way to the bathroom and made to wash his face.

When he was done he stared at his damp reflection in the mirror before shaking his head, opening the sink cabinet, and pulling out his toothbrush and paste.

Perhaps, he thought dully, removing the white cap on the blue tube, a thorough brushing would accomplish what his drive had failed to do: rid himself of the feel of Tom's lips.

Dan squirted a generous amount of paste on his toothbrush, brought it to his lips, and began to vigorously brush.

* * *

**TBC.**


	3. Part Three

**PART THREE [3]**

* * *

"Ooh, I want to go in there, next!" Emma exclaimed, pointing at a shop across the street. Both Dan and Rupert turned their heads in the direction of Emma's outstretched finger and groaned at the sight of the small building painted pink.

Dan shuffled the many bags in his hand—only two of which were actually his—and said, "There's no way I'm going in there, Emma." He could vaguely see a white mannequin dressed in knickers and a bra, and added "Definitely not."

Emma looked at Rupert imploringly, but when he snorted, huffed in exasperation.

"Oh, fine. Honestly, _boys_. You act as if I'm going to make _you _shop in there."

"You won't be able to even make me stand outside the place, Em."

Dan nodded in agreement.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm going in." When they didn't say anything, she asked, "Are you two going to stand on the opposite side of the street with those bags the entire time?"

"They're _your _bags," Dan pointed out.

"Yeah!" said Rupert, indignantly.

Emma ignored them. "Why don't the two of you wait inside that diner we passed a few minutes ago? It's about lunchtime anyway, and I _probably_ won't take too long in there."

So with that decided, Emma handed them the rest of her bags—

("You're going to be sitting. It doesn't make sense for me to have to carry these.")

—And left them standing with more bags and boxes than they could carry.

"I hate women," Rupert announced loudly, earning quite a few looks from the few passerby's around them. He exhaled deliberately and the tuft of orange hair that had fallen to his face was blown to the side.

"I hate shopping," Dan chipped in. Why Emma couldn't have done her shopping over the internet like normal modern day teenagers, he didn't know.

"Well, let's get going then."

It took them a while to manage their holdings properly before they turned around and set off for the diner they'd seen a block down. Somehow they managed to get there without falling, dropping anything, bumping into anyone, or getting hit by a car. When they arrived at the place, a quaint restaurant named _Victoria's Diner_ that carried a heavy scent of honey and toast_, _they seated themselves in the back, shoved their stuff beneath the table, and asked the waiter to give them ten minutes for their friend to arrive.

"Why is it we always get dragged along to carry bags whenever Emma goes shopping?" Rupert whined, spreading his hands. Sharp red lines, most likely caused from the bag handles, ran across his palm.

Dan was grateful he'd decided to wear gloves.

"Because you fancy Emma and would dress in girl's clothing if she asked you nicely enough?" he quipped, and laughed when Rupert's face grew red. Rupert made to launch over the table but he leaned to the side, missing Rupert's hand by a few centimeters. He laughed louder.

"I would not," Rupert grumbled. Just half a year ago he was still denying his attraction to Emma. Dan thought it wonderful progress.

"You would, too."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Nuh-uh."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, mate."

Rupert gave him the finger.

"The real question should be why _I'm _here. I'm not the one who wants to get into Emma's knickers."

"Oi!"

Dan grinned. "Don't pretend to be insulted. You know it's true."

Rupert flushed. "Quit saying it so bloody loudly, though!"

Dan grinned.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Rupert said, changing the subject. Dan let him. "I mean, not that it's bad or anything, but lately you've been spending more time with Tom than with us." He paused, then edited, "Well, except for the last month."

At the mention of Tom's name, Dan's humor died.

He scowled and crossed his arms on the table. "I don't want to talk about Felton."

Rupert quirked his brow. "What'd the bloke do this time?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it, didn't I?" he snapped. He felt guilty a moment later when Rupert frowned and put his hands up.

"Was just asking, is all," he muttered.

Dan's guilt increased. "Sorry, mate. He just right upset me, is all. I'd rather not think about him."

Rupert gave him a look—the look that normally meant 'if you say so, but if you want to talk about it you know you can always come to me, right?'—and for the first time in weeks Dan found himself wanting to tell someone so very, very badly.

Usually he didn't have much of a problem keeping things to himself—he was a celebrity; that was pretty much a given—but for some reason this secret seemed to be weighing down on him. It was constantly on his mind, poking at his brain when he least expected it to. And when he was deliberately thinking about it, which he tried very hard not to do, it seemed to take center and divert all his attention on it and it alone. The fact that the subject of that particular problem seemed intent on calling him five times a day didn't help any.

Dan bit his lip and glanced at Rupert from beneath his fringe. He'd known the bloke since they were twelve. If Dan did have a best friend (he pointedly did not think of Tom), it would be Rupert. He was level headed, and trust worthy, and unlike other celebrities wasn't interested in gossip and trouble. He also wasn't homophobic (at least Dan didn't think so—he treated Ralph and Jason well enough), and wasn't likely to cause trouble for Tom if he knew.

Rupert frowned at Dan's obvious staring and Dan decided.

* * *

"Tom _kissed _you?" Rupert all but shouted.

Dan hissed at him and took a furtive glance around the diner. No one was looking at them. He settled back against the chair and refrained from thumping his head against the table.

While Rupert was very trustworthy, he was also _loud._ Dan wanted to slap himself for forgetting that little fact.

"Announce it to all of England, why don't you?" he snapped at him.

Rupert winced and gave him a sheepish look, and when he opened his mouth to no doubt apologize, a voice from above them asked, "Why doesn't he what?"

Dan's head snapped up so hard his neck cracked.

"Ow," he moaned, and placed his palm against his throbbing neck.

Emma tsked. "Scoot over," she told Rupert, and slid in beside him. She placed the rest the bags beneath the table and looked out of the booth. The waiter caught her eye and came over.

"Are you all ready to order?" the young man—John, if his nametag was anything to go by—asked. Dan found it hilarious that he was referring to the three of them when he clearly couldn't be arsed to look away from Emma.

"We are," Rupert all but growled at him.

Dan shook his head.

The waiter took their orders—Sunday roast for Rupert and Dan, chicken tikka masala for Emma, and a round of iced waters—smiled at Emma, and flounced off. Dan heard Rupert mutter "prat" underneath his breath. From the sharp look Emma cast his way, Dan figured she'd heard it too.

"So," she said, turning to Dan, "what was it the two of you were talking about before I arrived?"

Dan cursed. "It's nothing," he lied, and shot Rupert look that _dared _him to say a word. Rubert glanced quickly away.

"Don't you dare lie to me, Daniel. I'm not stupid."

Oh, that he knew. "I don't feel like talking about it," he said weakly, shrinking under her fierce gaze.

"But you clearly felt enough to want to talk to Rupert about it."

"Yeah, but…"

Emma's face fell and she began worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Dan told himself not to fall for it, that Emma was only _pretending _to look so hurt so he'd spill the beans. But then her lip started to wobble, and her brows drew up, and Daniel felt the resistance in him flee as if something had gone inside him and scared it away.

He turned an imploring look at Emma, mentally begging her not push, but turned away when Rupert cleared his throat.

"Mate," he said, somewhat guiltily, "you might as well just tell her. You know she's only going to wheedle it out of you sooner or later."

Dan had been about to snap "don't you mean wheedle it out of _you_?" when Emma nodded.

"He's right, you know. I'll get it out of you eventually. Why make me wait?" The pained expression on Emma's face was, humorously enough, completely gone.

"I hate you," Daniel let her know.

Emma smiled. "No you don't."

Sighing, Dan began to relay the story to his other best friend.

* * *

"Well," Emma admitted when he'd finished, and the waiter had dropped off their food, "I wasn't expecting that."

At least, Dan thought dully, she hadn't yelled it like Rupert had.

Rupert nodded from beside her. "Tell me about it."

"Is that why you've been ignoring Tom, Daniel?"

Dan gave her an exasperated look. "Why else do you think?"

She frowned, poking her curry with her fork. "Don't you think that's a bit extreme, though?"

Dan gaped at her. "No!"

"I agree," Rupert grumbled, mouth full of food. Emma shot him a disgusted look and he quickly swallowed his mouthful before speaking again. "I mean, if someone just randomly went and kissed me I'd be incensed, too."

Emma turned a glare at him. "So you're telling me, Rupert Grint, that if I were to suddenly kiss you right now you'd stop talking to me for an entire month?"

Ron's mouth fell open and he spluttered, cheeks turning red.

Emma gave him a smug look. "Thought so."

"But that's not the same!" he insisted, still blushing furiously.

"Oh?" she quirked her brow. "And why not?"

"Well, I…you're…you're a _girl._"

"So if Dan went and kissed you right now you'd be so angry you'd stop talking to him for an entire month?"

"_No_!"

"Well, then," she said, reaching for her a glass and taking a large drink. She returned the glass to its coaster and told Dan, "I really don't understand why you're making such a big deal of this."

Dan, who'd been following along so far with a gaping mouth, snapped it shut and scowled.

"It's different, Emma. He had no right to do that! He completely crossed the line!"

"I'm not saying he didn't," Emma said placatingly, though her eyes were narrowed, "but, hell, Dan, he's your best friend—or _was_ at least, until he kissed you. And yeah, I'd be upset too if someone just randomly went and kissed me as some kind of joke—"

She broke off, eyes widening, and fixed him with a stunned look.

"Oh. _Oh_."

"What 'oh'?" Rupert asked.

"Oh, it just makes so much more sense now," she breathed, ignoring him.

"What does?" Dan said, sharply.

Emma turned her averted gaze back towards him and studied him quietly. It wasn't before long that he started to squirm, uncomfortable being looked at for so long. Eventually Emma let out a sigh.

"You fancy him," she said bluntly.

Dan could only stare.

"Oh, don't look at me like I just said something utterly ridiculous," she snapped, lifting her hand and tossing several thick strands of hair behind her ear. That was Emma's signature "lecture mode" gesture. "It makes sense."

"How the bloody hell so?" It was Rupert who asked.

"Normally people don't get so upset at being kissed, experimentally or not. Especially when the one kissing is a friend of the one being kissed. Oh, there'd definitely be some tension because of it—it'd be bloody odd if there wasn't—but eventually matters would have cooled down. I mean, it's just a _kiss. _We're in the 21st century; kisses are more common than handshakes in most parts of the world these days. That means that there had to be another factor involved for things to turn as they did in Tom and Dan's case. Normally I'd think it was the whole male/male aspect of it, but I know for a fact that Dan doesn't have a problem with homosexuality, and Tom obviously doesn't as he's the one who initiated the kiss on another bloke. So if it's not the kiss, and it's not the comfort, all that's left to involve would be _feelings_. Dan took the kiss _personally_, and that's why he's so uptight about it. It _meant _something to him. It's obvious that the reason he's so upset about the entire thing is because Tom made light of it, and _only _because he made light of it. Chances are, if Tom had kissed Dan seriously—in other words, if he'd kissed him as Tom kissing Dan and not as Draco Malfoy kissing Harry Potter—and if he hadn't treated it like an experiment or a bloody joke, I reckon Dan probably wouldn't have such a bad reaction. Actually, quite the opposite, I'm sure." Emma breathed heavily and gave a nod, as if having said it aloud somehow reinforced her own logic.

Dan, for the most part, was still stuck somewhere on the whole "feelings" part.

He wasn't sure, but he figured that Rupert hadn't understood too much of that, either.

They must have looked properly confused because Emma suddenly groaned and raised her eyes to the ceilings. "Why must my two best friends be such _boys_?" she asked aloud.

She looked at Dan and said exasperatedly, "You _fancy _Tom. You were upset because he took the kiss as a joke when you wouldn't have and hurt you, and that's the reason why you've been ignoring him the past month. _Understand now_?"

"But—," Dan gasped, nearly choking on his own spit, "—that's not true! I—he doesn't— I-I don't…"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Daniel, could you be any more thick?"

She resumed eating, then, pointedly ignoring his shocked spluttering.

From the wideness of Rupert's eyes, Dan figured he wasn't fairing any better.

"Your meat is going to get cold if you don't start eating soon," Emma said, loudly, after a moment. "And I have no intention of staying in this diner all day. There are still two more stores I need to go to."

_That _snapped Rupert out of his daze.

"What!" he cried, expression horrified. "I thought you were done, Emma! I can't carry any more bloody bags _or _boxes!"

The two continued to bicker but Dan could hardly hear what they were saying over the racing of his own heart. He _fancied_ Tom? Impossible! Tom was his friend, his _best _friend when the idiot wasn't being a prat. He would have _known _if he'd started to fancy the guy. He shook his head. Emma was off her rocker. Maybe _she _was into that whole fanfiction thing and was conspiring with Tom to get the two of them together.

Dan caught on to what he was saying and inwardly groaned. Was he falling into the denial stage, now? But no—he had to be in denial about something to be in denial in the first place, and there was hardly anything to be in denial about. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and thought glumly that he should have stayed home, after all.

Daniel looked at the remainders of his lunch—nearly the entire thing, since he'd hardly eaten—and pushed his plate aside, no longer hungry.

* * *

**TBC.**


	4. Part Four

**PART FOUR [4]**

* * *

Dan liked Tom Felton.

Two weeks had passed since his outing with Rupert and Emma—the outing in which Emma had made her opinion on Dan's feelings towards Tom remarkably clear—and Dan was no longer able to deny it. Emma had called earlier that day and asked if he'd gotten past the depression stage, yet, and Dan had glumly told her yes.

He'd spent the first few days in complete denial of it. Emma was wrong and he _didn't _like Tom. It made no sense _to _like Tom. Hell, he didn't even like _blokes_. And then he'd realized, after (effortlessly) trying to imagine the feel of Tom's lips on his (in an effort to prove himself) and getting hard, that he _could_ like blokes if they were fit enough, and Tom was _fit_. And then it'd been anger. For days he'd walked around with a terrible temper, blowing up at nearly everyone (including his poor Mum, who'd only called to see if he was eating alright). He didn't understand why he didn't see it before. He'd been upset at himself, and irate at Tom for practically forcing out something that was probably never meant to have been forced out. If the bloody moron had never started that Drarry shite, had never _kissed _him, he would have still been fine. Still have been _normal_.

He supposed the next few days, with his endless promises to be a better person and donate to more charities if he'd only just go back to being bloody normal, was the bargaining stage.

The last three days had been plain awful, spent in what acutely felt like a murky fog. He was constantly tired, constantly down, constantly feeling detached from everything. He spent his days in his bed, too tired to eat, thinking what was the _point_. What if his apparent bisexuality turned to all out _gay _and he was _never _able to marry someone, or have kids? Or what if his Mum found out and disowned him? Or worse—the media, and he was forced to quit stardom and live a life of a recluse in some valley. He considered Yorkshire—upper Nidderdale had always been one of his favorite places to visit. If he was to become infamous he might as well move into some isolated location he actually _liked_. And leaving the UK and possibly living with _Americans _(or worse—_Canadians_) was simply out of the question.

Dan had woken up yesterday morning with golden sunshine pouring through his windows, drenching his bed in brilliant warmth, and had finally come to the conclusion that yes, he was bi, and yes, he fancied his best friend, and that no, it bloody well wasn't the end of the world. He'd simply live with it, like every other gay or bi person had to live with it. And eventually, if he took care to not think about Tom inappropriately, he'd get over his crush on him and things would go back to _normal. _He'd just have accept things and try to be optimistic.

The_ Acceptance _stage.

Emma had asked him on the phone a few hours ago if he realized that the Kuber-Ross model was designed for people who were dying or suffering from catastrophic loss ("It's called "The Five Stages of Grief" for a reason, Dan"). Dan had told her, very seriously, that he'd been ruthlessly deprived of his ability to refer to himself as "straight", and if that wasn't enough cause for grief he didn't know what was.

Emma had huffed at him, fondly called him an idiot, and asked him what he was going to do.

He'd answered honestly: he didn't know.

Laying on his couch with his feet perched on the arm and re-runs of Monty Python flashing across the muted telly, Dan figured his first step should be to call Tom. He sat up, grabbed the remote, and switched the telly off. He sat staring at the black screen for what felt like ages before he huffed and fished between the cushions for his cell. Dan flipped the bulky device open, unlocked it, entered the Contacts Menu and scrolled for Tom's number, and clicked on it.

Two buttons—a green one that read "Call" and a red one that read "Cancel"—popped onto the screen. He froze for a moment before sighing explosively and hitting the red one.

"Coward," he said aloud.

Not that he thought it would, but it didn't make him feel better.

Dan shook his head and stood. He needed a plan B.

* * *

Plan B ended up being thought up by Emma, who all but threatened Dan with castration if he didn't follow through with it. And now Dan was standing on Tom's doorstep, finger hovering inches in front of the bell button, wondering why the hell he'd decided to call _her _of all people.

_I've been avoiding him for a month_, Dan thought guiltily. _He's not going to want to speak to me. _

He'd told that to Emma, too, and she had unsympathetically asked him whose fault that was. Dan had hung up on her after that.

Dan exhaled from his nose, closed his eyes, and pressed the button. The sound of the bell rang loudly throughout the yard. He stifled the urge to turn tail and flee, shifted his feet, and waited.

A few seconds later Dan caught movement from the keyhole, and then the locks on the door began to click and slide. The door was pushed open, and an irritated looking Tom stepped out.

"Er," Dan found himself saying, stupidly. There went the nice speech he'd been planning on making.

Tom, hair wet and wearing a dark green bathrobe, narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

He swallowed. "T-to talk."

Tom snorted. He crossed his hands over his chest and leaned his back against the open doorway. "Funny, it didn't seem like you wanted _that_ when I tried calling you five times a day for the past month."

And how was anyone to respond to _that_?

Dan looked down, guilt making his stomach churn.

Moments passed and Tom sighed. When Dan looked up, the pinched expression on Tom's face was replaced by weariness. With his eyes closed, he turned around and started walking in.

"Come in, then." He muttered over his shoulder.

Sighing in relief, Dan did. He closed the door behind him, toed his white trainers off at the door, and followed Tom down the hall and into the sitting room. Without a word Tom plopped onto the sofa. Hesitating, Dan faltered for a moment before sitting down on the opposite side of the couch.

"So."

"I'm sorry," Dan blurted. His heart was pounding, and his throat had gone almost agonizingly dry. What if, even after he apologized, Tom still didn't forgive him? What if their friendship never recovered simply because Dan had acted like a complete idiot? "I'm really, really sorry, Tom. I acted like a prat—" Tom snorted, but Dan pressed on "—and I'm sorry I avoided you this past month. I really, really am."

He exhaled, glanced down at the transparent coffee table, and admitted in a small voice, "But I really missed you. I missed my best mate. I—I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore, but… I just wanted you to know. So… yeah." He trailed off, ears burning.

Tom didn't say anything, and just when Dan was about to get up and leave, because surely the whole fucking thing was just pointless, Tom said, "Just—just don't fucking _do_ that again, yeah? Next time… next time I won't be so forgiving."

Relief crashed into Dan like a deluged wave and had he not been sitting he was sure his legs would have given out. He gave Tom a small, hesitant smile, and all out grinned when Tom returned it.

"Dork," Tom said.

Dan grinned harder.

* * *

It turned out that Dan's plan to not think of Tom in _that _way was a lot harder than he initially thought. The first few days after Dan's apology had been strained, consisting of forced laughs, tentative quips, and awkward touches. As the month of October flew by, and Halloween drew near, however, Dan found his and Tom's relationship to have slightly improved. While the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end whenever Tom so much as smiled at him (and not in a particularly bad way), Dan rejoiced in the fact that the smiles came a lot easier. It wasn't before long that Tom was (torturously) slinging his arm over Dan's shoulder and punching him on the arm, just like he used to before the _incident_ ever occurred.

_In fact,_ Dan thought suspiciously, watching Tom who was stretched over his bed with his nose in his e-reader (and what he was reading, well, Dan didn't dare to ask), _it was as if the incident hadn't happened at all. _

_But that's a good thing_, he reminded himself, unfolding his legs and crossing them the opposite direction. _No need to stir up trouble. _

"…Halloween, Dan?"

Dan startled and swiveled his head in the direction of his bed.

"What?"

Tom rolled his eyes and sat up, placing the reader beside his lap.

"What are you wearing for Halloween?" he said again.

"Oh," Dan said, then shrugged. "No bloody idea."

Tom quirked a dirty blond brow. "You are going to the Halloween party this year, aren't you? Bonnie is hosting it."

Tom wrinkled his nose after he said it, as if attending anything Bonnie was hosting made his skin crawl. Quite sure that it probably had something to do with the fact that Bonnie was playing Ginny, Harry's to-be wife, Dan chose not to shake his head in exasperation and demand that Tom be nice to her.

"I guess," he muttered, and reached up to scratch the back of his head. To be honest he had completely forgotten about the annual Halloween party that members of the Harry Potter cast took turns hosting each year. He figured he was entitled to being a bit forgetful about things considering all the crap that'd been on his mind as of late.

Namely one Tom Felton, who was looking at him as if he'd gone insane. Halloween had always been one of Dan's favorite holidays, so he supposed it was to be expected.

"You alright?"

"Have you already decided on a costume?" Dan asked instead, steering the conversation in another direction.

Apparently allowing the change of subject, Tom nodded and grinned.

"I've had my costume ready since August."

Dan's brows shot upwards. That was early, even for Tom.

"What are you going as, then?"

Tom looked pleasantly pleased with himself, and only a slight bit nervous, when he blurted out "Draco Malfoy."

Dan very nearly almost choked on his own spit.

Since the day Tom had forgiven him for being a prat, there had been certain subjects that the both of them had taken care to avoid. The _incident_ was one of them. Dan's obsession with fan fiction was another. Just to be safe, they'd wordlessly counted certain words as "unsafe words", and "Harry" and "Draco" (especially out of canon context) were two of them.

Swallowing heavily, Dan regained his composure and tried for a nonchalant look. He wasn't sure he was succeeding. "Why in the world would you go as _Draco_, Tom, when you _play his character_?"

The tension in Tom's shoulder visibly seeped away, and he grinned a little brighter. "No, see, I play _canon _Draco with all the loose robes and gelled hair and whatnot. _Fanon Draco _is a whole other story."

Curious despite himself, Dan asked, "Oh?"

Tom nodded. "Yeah."

Dan frowned. "I don't understand how you can condone random people changing your character so much. I'd be right angry if they did the same to mine."

The corners of Tom's lips tugged upwards, transforming his grin into an amused smirk.

"What?" Dan demanded.

Tom rose his hands. "Oh, nothing. Just thought of something funny."

Dan glared at him but chose not to push.

They spent the next hour browsing the 'net for something Dan could wear and talking about all the crazy stuff that happened at the last party. It was eight o'clock when Tom folded up his laptop and got himself ready to leave.

Tom was pulling on his trainers by the foyer when his face scrunched up and he let out a deep breath.

"Crap. I forgot to let you know that I'm going to be out of town for the next week."

Dan looked down on him in surprise.

"What? Why?"

"I've got an audition for a play."

"Oh. Where?"

"Durham."

"Oh." Dan's stomach squirmed with displeasure, even while knowing that it was only a bloody week. He and Tom had gone longer without seeing one another.

Trying not to scowl, he said, "I guess I won't see you until the Halloween party, then."

Tom nodded. He pulled on his jumper, then the coat over it, and fixed his long grey scarf around his neck. He pulled a pair of fingerless gloves out of his pocket (he remembered telling Tom once before that he didn't get the point of them, and Tom had replied that he didn't like the feeling of his hands being restricted) and pulled them on, then secured his sack over his shoulders.

"I'll be off, then."

"Yeah. Good luck with the audition, Tom."

Tom gave him a saucy wink that made heat pool in his stomach. "Not that I'll need it, but thank you."

"Cocky bastard," Dan retorted. He immediately regretted his choice of wording when his pants became a bit tighter at the word "cock".

Tom, ignorant of Dan's current inner turmoil, slapped him on the shoulder and opened the door. A blast of cold air rushed into the house and Dan shivered.

"Bugger it's cold," Tom whispered before shoving his fingers into his coat pockets and stepping outside.

Dan waited until he was down the front steps before he closed the door with a shudder.

It didn't make any sense, but he felt like he missed Tom already.

Shaking his head in disgust, he locked the door and headed into the house. He had a phone call to make.

* * *

**Note: **If the American/Canadian comment bothered you any, please refer to chapter 7: Notes. Underneath the notes for part4 there's a detailed explanation. Thank you.

* * *

**TBC.**


	5. Part Five

**PART FIVE [5]**

* * *

"Why is it that I always call you when I need help despite knowing you'll end up driving me utterly barmy?" Dan complained, fidgeting on the chair.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Because, like it or not, I usually do make things better."

"I'm not sure if your help is worth my sanity, though."

Emma scoffed. "Admit it, love. You wouldn't last a week without me."

Dan opened his mouth to argue that yes, in fact, he _could_ live without her nagging bossiness for much _longer _than a week, thanks, but Emma stepped back, and the feel of her fingers on his face retreated.

"There," she said, sounding pleased. "All done."

Dan didn't want to know.

Apparently he'd said it aloud, though, because Emma replied, "See for yourself before you make up your mind about my cosmetology skills." She then grabbed his hand, pulled him out of the chair, and dragged him out of her bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom.

Emma flicked the lights on and brought them to stop at the mirror.

Dan, at the sight of himself, gaped.

Staring back at him was someone totally unrecognizable. Someone definitely a lot sexier. The area around his eyes was darker (_coal_, he thought), and made his light blue eyes shine like sapphires. Whatever make-up Hermione had put on him had made his face appear pale. _Like a vampires'_, he thought approvingly, grinning and loving the pointy fangs that peaked out from behind his lips. The light paste on his lips made them look a lot more full then they actually were, he realized, and wondered if he'd be able to actually snip it from Emma.

"I look hot," he rushed out, turning his face side to side to get a better look.

He could see Hermione beaming from beside him.

"You really, really do."

Dan grinned and stepped back to readjust his collar.

When he'd called Emma a week ago, fretful that he had absolutely no idea what to wear for Halloween, Emma's immediate response had been "Vampire".

Dan had never gone as a vampire before, though he'd still been hesitant. After all, didn't nearly everyone dress up as vampires for Halloween nowadays? But Emma had asked him to trust her, and really, when had she ever steered him (completely) wrong?

It had only been after they'd gone and picked up Dan's costume from a very prominent getup shop inLondonthat she'd revealed her adamancy in seeing Dan dressed as a Vamp.

"Tom loves Vampires, you know," she'd said easily, when they were safe in Dan's car and more than halfway to his house. "He said so at last year's party. Said he had a huge thing for them."

Emma had given him a knowing smile, effortlessly ignored his gape, and hadn't said a word more on the matter since.

Dan was _certain _she knew more than she was letting on, but didn't dare question her on it, lest she truly didn't know anything, after all.

Which was a stupid thought, he now realized, marveling at how _perfect _his hair looked after Emma had spent nearly half an hour fighting with it. Emma always knew everything.

Shaking his head, Dan glanced down at himself once more—took in the sight of his loose dark cobalt blouse, tight fitted leather trousers, and shin length boots—and turned to Emma.

"Thanks, Em'. Really."

A faint blush moved across Emma's nose and she ducked her head and smiled.

"No problem, Daniel. Now, get out, will you? It's my turn to get ready."

Dan flashed her another quick grin before sauntering out of the bathroom—sauntering, because he felt like sex on legs—and heading downstairs. It was about time Rupert was supposed to get there, anyways.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later the doorbell rang. Dan propped himself off the couch, muted the telly, and went to the door. He opened it with a grin, curious to know how Rupert had dressed (since neither he, nor Emma, would tell him), and froze when he realized that the person standing on the stoop was not Rupert at all.

_Tom._

Tom had told him that he was going as Draco Malfoy. Dan was quite sure that Draco would never be caught dead wearing what Tom currently was. And he didn't mean that in a bad way at all.

Tom was wearing a robe. At least, Dan _thought _it was a robe. It was silver and web-like and stuck to every inch of him like extra skin, nearly transparent. Two long, thigh-high rips parted the robe at the sides, and Dan caught a glimpse of white fishnet stockings and white knee-high boots.

Dan brought his gaze up to admire Tom's hair, which was parted towards the right and tied up, one semi-long braid draped over his shoulder.

And gods, his face. Tom must have been wearing contacts because Dan had never seen such silver, liquid eyes. Grey, glittering powder surrounded them, making them stand out like a metal spoon in a bowl of milk. His lips were painted pink, and Dan almost lost himself to the urge to close the short distance between them and capture them in his own.

Dan shook his head and thanked the stars that his trousers were entirely too tight to reveal anything he would rather not be revealed.

"You look," he started, and had to cough when his words come out as nothing more than a near cloak. "You look great."

Tom blinked slowly, and the sight of those long, blond lashes flittering low made him weak in the knees.

"You do, too," Tom breathed.

"Are you boys going to stand there all day letting the cold in, or are you going to come in?"

They both jumped.

Dan cleared his throat again and tore his eyes away from Tom's (glorious!) chest. A blush stained his cheeks and he had to look down. He turned around and walked into the house, letting Tom close the door.

"You look stunning, Tom," Emma told him, and greeted him with a kiss to the cheek.

"You do too, Emma."

It was only then that Dan realized what she was wearing. Emma was dressed as a pixie. Or a fairy. Or one of those things. She wore a very, very low (on both ends) purple and grey dress with black pumps and lots of glittery makeup. Her hair was let loose in waves around her face. Her eyes were green. Large black wings were planted at her back, nearly as transparent as the gloves on her hands and the stockings on her feet. She wore more cleavage than Dan had ever seen her with.

"Thanks," she grinned.

The three of them settled onto the couch, waiting for Rupert to get there. Emma unmuted the telly and flicked through it until she reached a channel that was running _Merlin_. Dan wished she'd picked something else, something a bit more interesting, because watching a big-eared bloke with an obvious mental affliction (not even noble Harry Potter would continue to protect someone who was being a complete prat to him) saving the day wasn't nearly as distracting as the sight of Tom's pale neck whenever he swallowed.

For the first time since he'd seen himself in the mirror, Dan wished he'd worn something a bit more loose.

Finally, almost an hour and a half later, the doorbell rang again. Dan sprung to his feet.

"I'll get it," he said, and tried really hard to not run out of the room.

He completely missed the smirks Tom and Emma shared as he left.

* * *

It turned out that the reason it took Rupert so long to get there was because he'd misplaced his pirate costume.

"But don't tell Emma," Rupert had whispered desperately as Dan closed the door behind him. "She'll never let me hear the end of it."

Turned out Dan didn't have to say a thing on the matter because as soon as Emma asked what took him so long he cracked like a man with a gun to his back.

Emma had shaken her head and given him a fond look. Then slapped him when she realized he'd been staring at her chest.

The four of them left taking two cars; Dan rode in Rupert's, Tom rode in Emma's.

When Rupert had tried to complain about that arrangement, Emma had only glared at him. Punishment, Dan knew, for letting his eyes rove where they didn't belong. Dan could sympathize.

* * *

Bonnie, it turned out, really knew how to throw a party. The place was packed, full of a number of the Harry Potter cast as well as the close friends unlikely to seek the papers if something particularly gossip-worthy caught their eyes. The music was floor shattering and wild, beating throughout the house and making the walls shake. Food and drinks sat on high black tables, decorated with cobwebs, plastic spiders, and candy corn. White mist slithered amongst the ground, and multicolored lights flickered teasingly from bat-globes that hung from the ceiling. Cotton webs and lanterns lined the walls.

Dan had danced with nearly ten people before his feet began to ache in his heeled boots and he excused himself to get a seat at the bar. As soon as he sat down a bloke in a red suit came up to him and winked. "What'll you be having?"

Dan took a moment to consider. "Bellini. White peach."

The man grinned at him, winked again, and slithered away.

"Bellini, Daniel? Really?"

Dan's breath caught. From the corner of his eye he saw Tom take the seat next to him. There went the plan to ignore the man for the night.

Exhaling deeply, Dan tried to act as if his heart hadn't just started to beat at a dangerous rate, and shrugged. "I like it."

"You would," Tom snorted.

Dan rolled his eyes. "And let me guess—you're drinking a Tom Collins."

Tom smiled widely. "Of course. It's named after me, after all.

"Your vanity never fails to amaze me," Dan stated, dryly. Tom's grin only grew.

The bartender returned with his drink, winking at Dan again in a way that made him wonder if the man had something wrong with his eye, and he smiled briefly at him and took a sip. He sighed—it was delicious, as anything peach flavored usually was.

The party raged on as he slowly made his drink disappear. It took everything he had to focus on the dancing people, most of whom were drunk and making absolute fools of themselves, and not on Tom who remained a warm presence at his side, nursing his own beverage, silently.

Minutes passed before the silence was broken.

"So," Tom said eventually, "awesome party, huh?"

Dan wanted to laugh at Tom's unbelievably _cliché _conversation opener.

"You sound like you're trying to pick me up," he joked, and realized that he must have been more tipsy than he'd thought because a sober Dan would _never _have joked about something like that.

Tom gave him a sideways glance, and smirked. He said nothing.

"It is pretty amazing, though," Dan cleared his throat. "You'd never expect Bonnie capable of throwing something like this."

"It's always the quiet ones," Tom told him seriously, and Dan laughed.

"Tell me about it. Remember Matthew at Devon's birthday party last year? Christ, and the—"

"—the strippers!" Tom finished, laughing. "He put all of them to shame!"

Dan guffawed, clutching his sides to contain some of the contractions he felt were going to rip apart his stomach. That party had been _hilarious_. Nobody had known just how rowdy their polite, meek little Matthew would be once he had a few drinks in him. He'd been wholly unsatisfied by the strippers they'd hired, claiming them to be _amateurs._ And then he'd scrambled on stage, stole one of the dancer's poles, and persisted to showing them up. And how he _did._

Poor Matthew had never been able to live it down, and Dan doubted he ever would.

"Poor Matthew," Tom said, as if he'd been thinking the exact thing. Knowing Tom, he probably had been.

"Agreed," Dan said, and he lifted his drink and clinked it against Tom's.

They continued to reminisce about the more hilarious, and a few embarrassing, moments they'd witnessed and shared in past parties, and was on their second drink when Basement Jaxx blared through the speakers.

"I _love _this song," Tom breathed. And then began _singing._

Dan bit down the panic that threatened to make him do something stupid like, say, run away screaming, and forced himself to sit still and _not respond _as Tom sang words that did terrible things to his control.

_"I want to undress you, want to caress you, don't want to be coy—it's time to get me off."_

Dan squeezed his legs together and thanked every deity he knew that Tom's gaze was directed at the busy dance floor and not anywhere near Dan.

And then Tom's head swiveled towards him, and he cursed them for their betrayal.

_"Come on baby, thrust me, trust me, get me off."_

Tom looked at him, painted lips smiling over words that were making Dan's groin warm, as if he wanted Dan to sing along. But Dan's throat felt so remarkably dry he doubted he would have been able to so much as speak anything.

Tom was dancing on his stool, moving his hips slightly and swaying his shoulders in a way that was screaming _come here_. His robe had opened so wide that Dan could clearly see his chest and stomach, pale and glistening with light traces of blond hair scattered everywhere. He looked up and caught Tom's eye, and his breath stuttered.

Tom was looking at him. Tom was _looking_ at him. His eyes were molten silver, trapping him in their fever, devouring him completely. Dan could no longer hear anything but the distant sound of music and his own thundering heartbeat, his own rattled breath.

He watched as Tom continued to sing the words, inching closer until their noses were nearly touching, his lips hovering only centimeters away from his skin. He felt Dan's breath over his ear, could feel the moisture of his mouth from their short distance apart, and shivered when Tom sang the next verse, breathing them into his ear.

_"You're my poison and I cannot get enough. Don't wanna be coy. It's time to get me off."_

Dan bit back a moan.

Tom ran his hand down Dan's arm, and it felt like fire, sending his arm ablaze, his body aflame. Tom leaned back and he wanted to groan, wanted to demand that he return and continue to sing in his ear, continue to give him hope that it wasn't just a game, that Tom felt it, too—felt the electricity between them, the toe-curling sparks. But then Tom grabbed his hand and stood, pulling Dan with him, and said "Let's dance," and Dan found himself being pulled to the floor before he could say "let's go upstairs, instead."

* * *

**TBC.**


	6. Part Six

**PART SIX [6]**

* * *

When the song ended, Dan nearly sighed in relief. Without the provocative rhythm and lyrics pulsing in his ear, and Tom's body swaying along seductively, he could regain some semblance of sanity. Which meant that he wouldn't jump Tom in the middle of the dance floor, or do something as equally humiliating.

Dan didn't know what was going on. From the way Tom was acting towards him, well, it sort of seemed that he was being _flirty. _More—that he was trying to _seduce _Dan. And as thrilling as the thought was, Dan couldn't quite believe it. After all, wasn't Tom _straight?_ Or at least that's what Dan had thought before the whole "kiss fiasco" (but even then, it seemed to be more of an experiment on Tom's part than actual interest). And when they made up and started hanging out again, Tom had never _seemed _interested in Dan. In fact, he'd appeared to want to put the incident behind him almost as much as Dan did.

Dan knew that he liked Tom. It was something he had already accepted about himself. He was gay—or at least, bi—and indeed had a huge man crush on his best friend. But Tom had made no similar revelations, or had even _hinted _that he might have fancied Dan a little bit, too.

So as Tom continued to drag him further into the crowd, a part of him—the part that didn't want to say "fuck it all" and ravish him in the middle of all these people—wanted to demand to know what Tom was playing at. But he kept that part silent, too scared to anger Tom on the slight chance that he was, actually, being a hundred percent serious, and chose instead to observe.

The next song started and they stopped. Tom pulled Dan close to him, so close their chests were touching, and began to sway as the music picked up.

Closer by Nine Inch Nails. _Wonderful. _

Dan swallowed and tried to get into it, but he couldn't. His mind was racing, dwelling on an infinity of _buts _and _how's _and _what ifs_, and he found that he couldn't quite relax, couldn't quite quell his numerous questions and doubts.

They'd been swaying for some time when Tom, obviously disgruntled, punched Dan's shoulder, _hard_, and told him to stop thinking so loud because he was making Tom's head hurt.

"Sorry," Dan muttered, knowing that it wouldn't be that easy.

Tom seemed to realize that, too, and snaked his arms around Dan's waist, down to his hips, and squeezed his arse.

And just like that, all thoughts were gone.

Dan hissed and pushed his hips forward before he could refrain himself, and Tom only squeezed harder.

"That's right." Tom leaned forward and brushed his lips against Dan's neck. "Stop thinking and just _feel, _Daniel. We can stop and talk about this later."

And Dan _knew _that wasn't right, but then Tom crashed their groins together, and Dan would have agreed to anything at that moment just to have him do it again.

It was like a switch had gone off in his head. Suddenly he could hear the music, could hear the carnal lyrics and voluptuous cadence; took notice of the dozens of other dancing bodies around them. He could feel the heat coming off Tom in waves, could feel the hardness of Tom's chest pressed against his, his strong hands pressing against his lower back, could feel the movement of his body as it undulated and shifted. Dan pushed him even closer and brought his arms around Tom's neck, leaning forward until his chin was on Tom's shoulder, his lips a breath's width away from the arch of his throat.

_'I want to fuck you like an animal. I want to feel you from the inside. I want to fuck you like an animal. Your whole existence is flawed—you get me closer to God.' _

Dan wanted Tom. Wanted Tom more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life. He brought his arms down and took a small step back, looking Tom right in the eye as he moved.

_I'm ready_, he tried to tell him without speaking—he didn't think he could. _If you're serious, I'm so fucking ready. _

Tom seemed to have gotten it, because he moved the hand that had been rubbing Dan's arse around his wrist and tugged him out of the thrumming crowd and out of the room. Dan didn't bother trying to see if anyone had noticed them leaving, noticed them sneaking away from prying eyes to the upstairs rooms. He didn't _care. _

His heart was pounding violently as he followed Tom down the hall and into an empty bedroom—one of the guest rooms, he noted vaguely. He allowed himself to be shoved in, allowed himself to be pushed against the door and coveted by Tom's body completely.

"_Christ, _Daniel," Tom grunted, and finally, _finally_, captured Dan's lips in a searing kiss.

Daniel had never felt anything like it. With every pull of their lips, every swipe of their tongues, every raring breath, he fell further and further into a place he thought he'd never be able to get out of. Didn't _want _to get out of, because that place consisted of Tom, consisted of his hot mouth and sultry tongue and bruising fingers and thrusting hips.

Tom nudged his knee forward and Dan stepped further apart, grinding down on Tom's leg as it thrust upward. The feel of Tom's tongue at his throat, his fingers at his bare hip, his knee at his groin was almost too much, and Dan pushed him away softly, head shaking.

"Bed," he rasped, and didn't complain as Tom once again manhandled him towards the bed, throwing him on top of it and climbing over him, silver eyes staring him down.

"Shirt. Off. Now." Tom grunted, and pulled up to his knees and began tearing the robe over his head and onto the floor.

Dan would have laughed at Tom's apparent inability to speak more than monosyllables had he been even an iota of confidence that he could speak at_ all_, so instead settled for smiling wryly as he unbuttoned his blouse and tore it off.

The moment it landed on the bed Tom was once again on him, pressed so flatly against him it felt as if their skins had merged. They were kissing again, kissing and mouthing and licking while trying to undo their pants and push them down, and Dan hadn't even had time to think before his cock hit the air, free from his trousers, already hard and dripping pre-cum.

"_Fuck_," Tom breathed, ogling.

Dan would have felt embarrassed if he hadn't been occupied in staring at Tom's own dick—honey colored and thin and tall in stature, poking out of a thatch of wild blond curls and whiter skin.

He moaned at the sight of Tom's cock twitching, and that seemed to set Tom off because once again he was moving, grabbing Dan's hand and placing it over his erection, and moving around to capture Dan's in his.

Everything after that was a blur. It was a haze of snogging and thrusting and tugging, of awkward fumbling and aroused whimpers, a chorus of _Dan_ and _Tom _and _oh god _and _please don't stop. _

And then suddenly Dan was coming, shooting cum all over Tom's hand, trembling so hard he thought he would _die_. He leaned forward and kissed Tom, swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and bit, and then Tom was coming, too, getting both their hands and arms sticky with the essence of his pleasure, shot after streaming shot.

They both fell to the bed, gasping, clutching at one another and sharing long, sluggish kisses until they fell asleep.

* * *

When Dan woke up it was to see the first flittering of morning sunshine peaking through the drapes of the window he was facing. Tom was pressed to his back, arms thrown over him as if he'd been holding him all night.

"Morning, Daniel," came the whispered greeting in his ear. He shifted and turned around, coming face to face with Tom who looked as if he'd been up for ages. Gone were the silver contacts, and its place the sparkling blue and grey eyes that Dan so preferred.

Dan took note of the fact that his hands were no longer sticky, and his trousers no longer pushed down to his knees. He wiggled his foot, earning a small smile from Tom, and realized his boots were gone, too.

"Morning," he whispered back, careful of breathing too hard with morning breath.

Tom pushed Dan towards him until his face was pressed to the crook of his neck, his head just shy of Tom's mouth, and closed his eyes at the feel of Tom's lips pressing against his forehead.

They remained that way for what felt like ages before Dan finally sighed, knowing they needed to sort things out, and sat up.

"Tom—," he started.

Tom shushed him.

"You have a horrible tendency of over-thinking things and taking forever to come to even the most obvious of conclusions, so I'll say it for you. You like me. A lot. You want to be sure that this isn't just some experiment for me; it isn't. I've been crazy about you for ages but you've been too thick to notice. We had semi-sex last night, and it was spectacular, and we're both going to do it again the moment we return to either of our respective houses. Repeatedly. Probably for the rest of our lives, until we're both too old to get it up anymore. Clear?"

Dan stared at him, dumbstruck.

Tom nodded in satisfaction. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Dan's lips and hopped off the bed.

"Well," he demanded a moment later, "are we going to my house to shag or what?"

Dan stumbled off the bed, nearly tripping over his boots in his haste to follow.

And that was that.

* * *

**Epilogue: _One Week Later._**

"Oh my god," Dan panted, coming down from his post-orgasm high. His entire body was trembling, throbbing and quivering in places he never knew existed. "Oh my god."

Tom crawled towards him, licking his lips and wiping his fingers against the sheets as he went, and smirked.

About a minute later, when the stars in Dan's vision had subsided and the outright shaking of his body had quieted to diminutive tremors, he opened his eyes and looked at Tom and rasped, "Where the bloody hell did you learn to _do _that?"

Tom propped his chin in his hand and grinned. "Harry/Draco fan fiction, of course. Where else?"

* * *

**The End. **


	7. Notes

**AUTHOR'S NOTES **

* * *

_**RPF Disclaimer: **This is a work of _fiction_ based on the_ public personas of celebrities_, not the actual people themselves, nor is it a reflection of them. It is my belief that the people we see in interviews are just as 'made up' as the characters they play, and it is that 'character' that is being written about. Let me reiterate that this is a work of fiction; I don't claim to know anything about the actual people, including their opinions, habits, and inclinations, and no harm was intended or profit made by writing this. _

* * *

**A/N: (12/2010)**

This thing turned out to be a bit longer than I initially expected. Anyways, this little fic was created by my firm belief that Tom Felton (and maybe even Dan Rad, as well) is a secret Drarry shipper. I mean, really, does anyone else listen to the things that come out of his mouth? And he and Dan are constantly touching each other. Or it may just be that I'm an obsessed fan girl who's looking for things that probably really aren't there. But y'know, I'm sure that's the case for most of us in the Drarry fandom, so I'm not too worried about sounding insane. Enough about that, though. Much thanks to **Songquake **for beta-ing the first chapter! Any typos you happen to find in here are entirely my fault.

* * *

**A/N: (04/2011)**

First let me apologize for taking so darn long to update the story, guys. I thank everyone who has showed interest in the story and encouraged me to just finish and upload it. The comments I received for the first chapter alone are staggering and I have no words to describe how happy each one made me. And believe me, I really needed every bit of happiness they brought.

**About the story.** As you can probably tell already, Dan and Tom are pretty OOC. I based the Tom and Dan in this fic on how I imagine them to be in my head. It was only until after the story was finished that I thought I should probably see a few of their interviews to get a better feel of their personalities and realized that the Dan and Tom in my fic are very dissimilar to the originals. By that point it was far too late to go back and change everything so I didn't bother. I look forward to one day writing a fic that captures their true personalities much better (that won't come for a very long time, though).

It's pretty much the same for the other cast members (Rupert, Emma, Mathew, etc). Everyone is pretty similar to their canon/fanon HP counterparts, and I'm sorry for apparently lacking imagination.

The rest of the story hasn't been beta-read, so do excuse any grammatical errors, inconsistencies, and typos you come across. If you point them out to me I'll make sure to fix them. Better yet, if anyone would like to actually beta read the entire thing I'd be very grateful.

* * *

**Chapter 1 Notes:**

**1)** Fic: The Sacrifices Arc by Lightning-On-The-Wave _(I like this fic a lot, though for some reason I never manage to finish it_

**2)** Fic: Underwater Light by Maya _(If you haven't read it then I suggest you get your hands on it because it's really freaking awesome.)_

**3)** Fic: Punishment by Cheryl Dyson _(this is one of the hottest fics I have ever read)_

**4)** Author: Lomonaaeren_ (she's written some of my absolute favorite fics)_

**Other Notes:**

**1)** Bottom!Draco: Were you able to tell that I really don't like the whole top vs. bottom obsession in slash? Because I really, really don't. I honestly don't see why they both can't top_ and _bottom.

**2)** Robbie is Hagrid, Michael is Dumbledore, and Joanne is J.K. Rowling

* * *

**Chapter 2 Notes:**

**1)** I have no idea if Dan was homeschooled or not. Bad research on my part, I know. It fit with the story, though, so I went with it.

**2)** I actually quite hate this chapter. So much is going on it and I feel I rushed through it too quickly.

* * *

**Chapter 3 Notes:**

**1) **Rupert is Ron, Emma is Hermione, Ralph is Voldemort, and Jason is Lucius.

**2)** This is quite possibly my favorite chapter. Probably because it was so much fun to write.

* * *

**Chapter 4 Notes:**

**1)** Kuber-Ross Model: It's meant to be funny. Sorry if it offends anyone.

**2)** Americans vs. Canadians: Dan isn't racist, he's just being dramatic.

**3)** Monty Python: A British surreal comedy group.

**4)** Bonnie is Ginny

**5)** Dan and Tom don't live in any particular area. I know I could have looked it up and did a bit of research, but I didn't find it very important to the story. Also, I was lazy.

* * *

**Chapter 5 Notes:**

**1) **The idea for Tom's costume was inspired by artwork created for the fic "And Then There Were Three" by Amy, a (fabulous) Harry/Draco/Snape fic. Google it.

**2)** Mathew is Neville and Devon is Seamus

**3)** I was reluctant to put actual lyrics in the story because 1) I normally don't like it myself, and 2) I'm not convinced I'm a good enough author to pull it off. Sorry if it irritated anyone.

* * *

**Chapter 6 Notes:**

**1)** _Closer_ by Nine Inch Nails is the ultimate sex song.

**2)** I'm not very fond of the smut scene in this chapter. I considered just taking it out, but UST without eventual resolution, no matter how small, kind of sucks. Um. Yeah. Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

* * *

**AND THAT'S ALL, FOLKS.**

I had so much _fun_ writing this little story.

Thanks so much for reading this little experiment of mine, everyone. I truly hope I didn't disappoint. Reviews and constructive criticism are, of course, very much welcome. Well, 'til next time. Bye!

_~Reiko K._


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